Silver Lining (11 page)

Lowering his head, he rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, regretting everything about the last twenty minutes.

Low Down.

His head snapped up, and he stared at the sleeping form beside him.

He'd been married to this woman for four days, he'd just made love to her, and he didn't know her name.

Appalled, he dropped a hand on her shoulder and gave her a shake. "Wake up."

She bolted upright, instantly alert, her hands slapping at her waist where her Colt would normally have been strapped. "What's the matter? What's wrong?" she said, starting to swing out of bed. "Are they throwing us out of the hotel?"

Max caught her arm. "Nothing's wrong. I'm sorry I woke you, but I have to know something, and the answer won't wait until morning. What's your real name?"

"You woke me up to ask my name?" After a minute, she laughed and eased back into bed. "Louise Downe."

"How did you get from Louise Downe to Low Down?" The instant he asked the question, he knew he didn't want to know the answer.

"Well, you remember how I told you about Mrs. Olson?" She covered a yawn. "When I was little she used to shout at me. She'd say, come here you low-down, good-for-nothing little piece of … well, you can guess the rest. I got it in my head that Low Down was my name. Then, after I ran away, I heard a man from Washington talking about being low down on a totem pole. That seemed to fit, too. And so—"

"I don't want to hear any more." After a minute he opened his arms. "Come here."

"What?"

There wasn't much he could do to make up for a performance that had been perfunctory at best, but he could end an intimate act in a more honorable fashion than rolling away from her as if he'd paid for her favors.

Reaching, he guided her head to his shoulder, sensing her surprise and hesitation. At length she relaxed against him, and eventually he felt the soft rise and fall of her magnificent breasts against his side and knew she'd fallen asleep.

He finished smoking the cheroot, his thoughts a dark kaleidoscope of shifting images. Philadelphia . His summer in the mountains. The ranch. The period in the schoolhouse when he had believed he would die.

And the stranger in his arms, his wife.

There was no way out of this mess. No way to set things right with Philadelphia or her father. No way to shield his family from scandal and shame. Tonight he and Low Down had sealed their misfortune by beginning a marriage neither of them wanted.

But he'd done his duty. Preacher Jellison and the men at Piney Greek must be laughing their butts off.

«^»

A
rough spot on the wooden wagon seat snagged Low Down's skirt when she twisted around to peer back at the Belle Mark. She had arrived there yesterday as one person and departed today as another.

She looked different; she felt different, and maybe she was. Maybe she was pregnant. Her heart lifted at the possibility. On the other hand, he who lived on hope dined on scraps. It was better not to hope too much. Just wait and see.

When Max headed the team north and she could no longer make out the green-and-white-striped awning, she turned her attention to the items packed in the wagon bed.

"Mostly provisions and supplies for the ranch," Max explained. "And a few gifts for the family."

"What kind of gifts?" she inquired, anxiously smoothing her skirts before she checked on the hat pin that anchored her hat to her hair. A person had only one chance to create a good first impression, and she wanted Max's family to approve of her. On the other hand, why should they?

Max glanced back to make sure he wasn't driving too fast for Marva Lee and Rebecca who were tied to the tailgate.

"I bought Gilly's husband, Dave, new strings for his guitar and a hatband. My brother, Wally, gets a silver belt buckle and a book of house plans in case he decides someday to build on his quarter. The bolts of cloth are for Gilly and my mother."

"What kind of material did you choose?"

"Velvet."

Low Down whistled. "Son of a bitch. That must have cost a pretty penny!" When he turned his head to frown, she lifted her hands. "I'm sorry. I'm not swearing as much as I used to." Changing herself was not easy. Old habits died hard. "What else did you buy?"

"I bought Ma a new set of account books." Max kept his eyes on the twin ruts in front of the team.

Learning what gifts he'd chosen gave her a small glimpse of her new family. "What did you buy Gilly and her daughter?" she asked. She had been especially interested in Gilly and Sunshine since Max had told her about them.

"There's a doll for Sunshine, and a box of lace-edged handkerchiefs and a book of sheet music for Gilly."

"Sheet music?" She considered for several minutes, then finally decided to confide in him. "I collect songbooks myself."

Surprise lifted his eyebrows. "Then the piano wasn't as far-fetched a suggestion as it seemed at the time."

"I don't play the piano, I just collect songbooks."

"Why?"

"Because I enjoy the stories." She liked to surprise him, but suddenly she felt uneasy. His expression suggested that other people didn't do this. "Take that song about 'Grandfather's Clock,' for instance. It stopped ticking when the old man died." She gazed into his eyes, as blue as the powdery sky. Then, since she'd come this far, she plunged ahead. "Don't you think that's sad and touching?"

"I guess I never thought much about the words."

"Another example is 'Shoo, Fly, Don't Bother Me. ' That's a funny one. Anyway. The song stories are short, and most of the time they offer a lot to think about. I've thought of a dozen ways that old grandfather might have died and stopped the clock, Or, take 'Silver Threads Among the Gold.' I mulled over that song for days after I read the words. Pondering growing older and asking myself if I'd done all the things I wanted to do. That's when I first started thinking about a baby and getting to it if I was ever going to."

She stopped short. Neither of them had referred to last night, and she didn't think they should. There was a time to speak and a time to be silent, and she figured what happened behind a bedroom door demanded silence. Max had done his duty; that was the important thing. Now they would wait to discover if he needed to do it again.

She slid a sidelong glance at his profile then pushed at the fingers of her gloves, trying to make them fit better. Oddly, the motion made her uncomfortable, made her think about last night. Not talking about last night was easy. Not thinking about it was the hard part. It seemed that nearly everything recalled some detail. The firm manner in which he held the reins between his hands. The breathless way her corset squeezed her ribs. The smell of shaving soap that occasionally wafted in her direction.

She gave her head a shake. "Well. That's why I collect songbooks. I like to read the stories and then think about them."

"If you like stories, why don't you read books?"

"Hoo boy, now that's a good one!" She slapped her thigh and laughed. "First, books cost too much money. Second, well, what would you think if you saw someone like me reading a book? You'd think I was putting on airs, sure enough. No, the songbooks are good enough. I like them." And she had a new one from the boys at Piney Creek that she hadn't read yet. It was a treat to look forward to. And maybe if things went well between her and Gilly, Gilly would be willing to trade some of her books.

Max rubbed his eyes, then dropped his hand back to the reins.

"Pretty day today," Low Down remarked after another mile had rolled beneath the wheels.

"I suppose so."

To the west, the Rocky Mountains drew a jagged purplish line across the horizon. Some of the peaks were snow-capped, but here on the slope of the plains, autumn had just begun to hint at the brilliant display to come. The grasses had faded, and Low Down spotted a few pale leaves among the tall cottonwoods clumped across a rolling landscape. They passed men raking hay out of stubbled fields, and soon the ranchers would move their cattle down to winter pastures.

"Every turn of the wheels makes me more nervous," she admitted after another mile had passed in silence. She was wearing herself out with the anxiety of wondering if Max's family would accept her during the brief time they would be married. Of course, it didn't matter, and she didn't care.

"Stop worrying," he advised.

She couldn't help it. What if his family hated her on sight? After all, she was the one who had wrecked the wedding plans.

"Oh damn." Flinging out a hand, she gripped Max's tense arm. "I'm sorry. I forgot all about tonight.

You're going to see Philadelphia and her father." She stared at him, feeling the steely tautness of the muscles beneath her fingertips. He must be dreading tonight as much as—more than—she dreaded meeting his family. "Max… I wish—"

"Low … Louise. I don't want to discuss this."

Louise? Suddenly she remembered him waking her to ask her name. And then, her shock when he had pulled her into his arms. The back of her neck grew hot, and she turned her head away, busying herself by slapping at her skirts, checking her hat, pushing at the fingers of her gloves.

"Does your family like Philadelphia ?" she inquired in a low voice, furious with herself that she'd ask such a dumb thing. "I guess they do," she said when Max didn't answer.

"Do we have to talk? I have a lot on my mind right now. I need to do some thinking."

"About what you'll say tonight to Miss Houser and her father. I understand. Silence is golden." Twisting her fingers in front of her mouth, she made a motion like she was locking her lips and throwing away the key.

For the next hour neither of them spoke. Low Down gazed at the fields and trees and streams and distant mountains. She fussed with her skirt and hat and gloves and bag and laced her shoes again. She swayed on the wagon seat, occasionally bumping against Max's shoulder and thigh. The trip seemed interminable.

"How much farther?" She spotted a town ahead and hoped it was Fort Houser , named for Philadelphia 's grandfather, who had founded the town. She suspected Max believed she hadn't paid attention when he told her about Philadelphia 's high-faluting family, but she had.

"That's Fort Houser ," Max confirmed. "We'll bypass the town and go directly to the ranch."

She supposed that made sense. He wouldn't want word flying back to Philadelphia that he'd returned home accompanied by a woman. Philadelphia should hear the bad news from him.

"We'll be home in less than an hour."

Home. To a real family. Lordy, she hadn't been this nervous in years.

"I don't care if they like me or not." She placed a hand on her stomach and strained to see into the distance, looking for a ranch house among the stands of cottonwood and willows. "It won't be for long, anyway. For all we know, I'm pregnant right now."

"That would be good," Max said, speaking between his teeth. He, too, sat straighter and stiffer on the wagon seat. It occurred to her that he probably wished he didn't have to bring her home to his family.

The more she thought about his being ashamed of her, the angrier she became. She hadn't asked for these complications. It wasn't her fault that she couldn't live up to the McCord family standards.

Turning on the wooden seat, she narrowed her eyes on his expensive hat, scanned the rich gloss of his leather jacket. She'd bet the earth that none of the McCords had ever gone to sleep hungry, or insulated their boots with old newspaper.

"I'm sorry that I'm not some fancy-dancy butterfly wearing a velvet dress to meet your snooty family. But I have my good points! And just remember, it wasn't me who insisted on marriage, and I didn't choose you!" Flouncing back into place, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the road.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

She felt his stare like a scald on the side of her face. "It ain't my fault that I don't have a grandfather who founded a town. Or that I can't play the piano."

"Louise—"

"I am what I am, and damned if I'm going to apologize for it! I don't care what you or your family think of me." As always, her beloved proverbs came to her rescue. "Every tub must stand on its own bottom.

That's how I've always lived, standing on my own bottom." She was working herself into a respectable state of anger. "I don't need you or your judgmental family."

"You may not need a family," Max said in a resigned voice, "but there they are, waiting for you on the porch. Someone must have seen us coming down the road."

"What?" Her head jerked up, and she discovered they were approaching a sprawling two-story house with a multitude of outbuildings scattered behind. An enormous elm shaded a veranda that skirted the front of the house like a ruffle.

Low Down's gaze lifted to the gingerbread cutouts adorning the eaves, noted freshly painted green shutters framing the windows, then she drew a deep breath and forced herself to examine the people waiting on the veranda. They looked back at her as the wagon turned into the yard.

As she'd guessed, the McCords were a good-looking family and as impressive as the house. Gilly, small and pretty and stylish, stood beside a handsome sandy-haired man who must be Dave Weaver, her husband. Between them was a tiny version of Gilly, holding her mother's hand. To the left was a shorter, softer version of Max. That would be his brother, Wally. And standing apart from the others was a ramrod-straight woman, still handsome, wearing an expression that revealed no hint of her thoughts as she watched scandal spin into her yard and draw to a halt.

No one moved or spoke as Low Down swung down out of the wagon, forgetting to wait for Max to come around and offer his assistance. Abruptly aware that she hadn't behaved like a proper lady, she froze beside the wagon in a flutter of uncertainty, returning the scrutiny of her new family. Wally and Dave gazed at Max with sympathy narrowing their eyes. Gilly stared straight at Low Down, her eyes wide with—what?—curiosity? Dismay?

Then Max appeared beside her as his mother came marching down the steps, an ice-blue gaze fixed on her son until she reached the wagon. She examined the pox marks on Max's jaw, but she spoke to Low Down first.